


The Last Words

by Pamela Rose (pamela_rose)



Series: Knowledge [2]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:02:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25669375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pamela_rose/pseuds/Pamela%20Rose
Summary: Spock has regrets. Kirk tries to hang on. It's a bitch and then Sarek dies.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Series: Knowledge [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861258
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	The Last Words

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in Naked Times #4/5 (1981)

Kirk leaned back in the command chair and sighed. He was bored and a little glum. He had an edgy feeling of something being wrong, yet he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Perhaps it was just the inactivity. He knew from experience that it was sometimes harder for him to take day after day of routine than crisis. He preferred action, excitement—even the tinge of danger that sent his adrenaline rushing and his heart pounding. The patrol the _Enterprise_ was on now could hardly be considered dangerous. They were in the most heavily populated area of the Federation. He knew it was just as necessary to patrol this part of the galaxy as any other, but it was far from thrilling.

It had been nearly a month since Kirk and Spock returned from their eventful shore leave on Vulcan. Kirk still felt the occasional slight twinge in his side from the recently healed ribs. And Spock . . . Spock was different in some imperceptible way the human couldn’t fathom. Their bond was still strong, but Kirk could sense through the link Spock’s disquiet—his cautious withdrawal. There was nothing specific in his actions, but Kirk was still a worried. He tried to convince himself that it was just his own restlessness and imagination, because Spock refused to admit anything was amiss.

Kirk’s gaze moved across the bridge to where Spock stood, bending over his viewer, engrossed in scientific data. He felt his blood quicken as he traced the line of the lean, hard body, the strong shoulders, the delicately formed ears, the shining black hair.

 _My friend, my lover_ , he thought absently. Or did that apply anymore? They hadn’t been together—truly together—since Vulcan. Kirk understood to some extent why this had to be. They had both been injured and had to physically heal, and Spock had been bound to go through a period of withdrawal and meditation after the incidents on Vulcan. Especially Stonn’s death. It was a natural reaction which Kirk had expected, knowing Spock as well as he did. But the human wanted to support him, and Spock didn’t seem to want—or need—his help.

Perhaps the bond was weaker than they thought. Kirk had no way to know; had nothing to compare it to. It certainly wasn’t like the human relationships he had experienced. His study on Vulcan hadn’t given him any greater enlightenment on that subject. It was frustrating that the one area of knowledge he felt in most need to pursue was something Vulcans preferred to avoid—emotion, mating, sex.

Spock straightened suddenly, turning to meet Kirk’s eyes. No, the bond was still undeniable. He had felt the quickening of Kirk’s body through the link. Their gaze held for a moment—a quiet flicker of lightning across the oblivious bridge. Then Spock’s eyes dropped, almost visibly embarrassed, although no one had seen the exchange.

Kirk couldn’t resist a smile of satisfaction. Vulcan or not, there had been a fire in that look which had jolted them both. Maybe Spock was finally coming out of this contemplative phase he’d been through. Kirk suddenly felt lighter. Tonight . . . It would he like a beginning again and they could forget that nightmarish interlude on Vulcan.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

Kirk hesitated at the door to Spock’s quarters. He knew it was unlocked, but he was suddenly shy of intruding. The thought irritated him. Intruding! Were they not bondmates? He paused again. Still . . . things had been . . . different lately.

He took a deep breath and decided to use the door signal. A few seconds passed and the door slid open. As he entered, he saw Spock replacing his lyrette on the wall beside his desk. “I’d love to hear you play,” Kirk said softly.

Spock turned and regarded him soberly. Then he nodded and picked up the instrument. Kirk sat down at his side as the Vulcan touched the strings lovingly, then began to play. It was a haunting sound. Hurtingly, exquisitely beautiful. It sang so well of Vulcan that Kirk could almost taste the sand, feel the dry heat against his skin, sense the hidden, buried passions. Each separate, vibrating note moved through Kirk until he almost trembled in response.

Spock stopped abruptly, knuckles whitening in their grip on the instrument. “Why did you stop?” Kirk whispered, as if coming out from a trance.

Spock re-hung the lyrette on the wall and sat down again, resting his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers. “I am sorry; I do not wish to play more.”

‘“Okay,” Kirk responded, trying to ignore his companion’s sudden shift of mood. “How about some chess then?”

With almost an effort, Spock nodded. “Very well, Jim.” He reached for the chess board and, for several moments, they played silently.

Kirk watched Spock between moves. He was puzzled by his taciturn mood, which seemed even darker than usual. But Spock gradually began to relax as the game progressed. Kirk saw the muscles in the hands and shoulders loosen slightly and he started to be glad he had come here. Maybe it was just the tension of being apart so long. It was natural that they would feel uncomfortable for a while. A month could be a long time in a relatively new relationship. An eternity in which past touches are never forgotten—but can sometimes seem more of a dream than reality.

He thought back to that night in the mountains of Vulcan. He remembered the tender, overwhelming passion. The fire, needing, giving. Then the harsh, bright Vulcan sun—and Stonn’s mad attack. And Spock was forced to kill—to break the most sacred of Vulcan tenets. Not out of logic (which Spock could have accepted), but out of fury. The necessary, logical death of Stonn had been negated in Spock’s mind by the overwhelming blood-lust he had experienced. He was finding it difficult to accept his too-human/savage Vulcan heritage which drove him to kill, not in self-preservation or logic, but in rage at the brutality inflicted on Kirk and the even more degrading brutality intended.

Kirk had understood Spock’s inner turmoil and still did. After all, how many times had _he_ felt blind, overpowering rage? That loss of control could upset humans as well. Yet how much harder must it be for the Vulcan to accept it within himself?

It may have been a mistake to go to Vulcan—at least so soon after their bonding. But he had wanted to know what it meant to be Vulcan. Had wanted to be as close to Spock as he could. Kirk had never been one for half measures and, once the bond had been created, he wanted it to be total. Now, he wondered if perhaps it had been all too soon. They’d had no time for consideration. It had all been so new, and although the bonding was solid, there was still so much each had to learn about the other. And learning takes time. It couldn’t be forced as he’d been trying to force it. It was possible he would never truly know Vulcan. Maybe a full Human never really could. In any case, the trip to Vulcan could hardly be termed a success on that front.

But he loved Spock. Loved him so totally that this month had seemed arid and sterile without his touch. It alarm him a little. He, the starship captain, the loner, the independent stud had lost himself so deeply in another. Yet he needed this alien touch almost as much as he needed air. It could have been the bonding which made him feel this way; that subtle, wispy link that lived deep within his mind, waiting for the flame to kindle it to high, hot fire. It had helped a lot these last weeks to know it was there—to feel its pull occasionally and know the one at the other end needed him, too.

He looked at Spock now, and saw the light glisten off the dark, shining hair. Saw the deep, compelling eyes studying the chessboard intently. Saw the strong, sharply cut face. Kirk reached out suddenly, touching Spock’s hand as he lifted it to move a chess piece. “Spock.”

The Vulcan met his eyes. He saw the clouding in the hazel of Kirk’s gaze. Saw the quick rise and fall of Kirk’s chest. Response was demanded in the link. He responded, touching the human face tenderly. Soft in the tracing of the cheekbone and eyebrow, lips and jaw.

“It’s seemed like such a long time, Spock,” Kirk whispered, closing his eyes at Spock’s sensual touch.

“Yes.”

They rose and in the bedchamber Kirk pulled off his shirt and pants eagerly. Spock paused, but followed suit. When they were nude, Kirk drew Spock down to the bed, his mouth to the Vulcan’s mouth insistently. They kissed tenderly at first, then harder as Kirk’s passion rose. Tongues touching; hot and needful. Kirk moaned softly at this long awaited pleasure, moving his lips down Spock’s throat . . .

“No.” Spock pushed him away abruptly and sat up, shaking slightly with his own need. But he controlled it, fought it back.

It took a moment for Kirk to come back to reality. From a kneeling position, he sat back on his legs, confused. “Spock, what . . . ?”

The words were so low from the bowed head, Kirk could barely catch them. “I’m sorry, I . . . cannot . . . “

Kirk blinked and took a deep breath to steady himself. “What’s wrong? Did I do something—?”

“It is not you,” Spock assured him.

“Why? I . . . “ Kirk paused helplessly. “ . . . don’t understand. Please tell me what it is.”

Spock rubbed his face with his hands in an uncharacteristic gesture. “I cannot explain.”

“Then meld with me so I can understand,” Kirk demanded, sympathy warring with impatience.

“No!” The word was sharp, final.

“Spock,” Kirk said, staring at him in shocked disbelief, “you refuse me?”

A shudder ran through Spock. To refuse to meld with a bondmate was not only improper, it indicated a lack of trust and commitment. Kirk knew that as well as Spock; his brief training on Vulcan had given him that much knowledge. Spock’s words were choked. “I . . . yes, I . . . refuse.”

Kirk felt hurt, baffled, rejected. “Please, Spock. I love you.” He leaned forward and touched the Vulcan’s shoulder. “I love you!”

Spock flinched from the touch. “Love is a mistake. And passion is dangerous. Emotion is a treacherous snare. We were caught in it and now I must consider what can be done to correct the condition.”

There was a crushing weight on Kirk’s chest. He swallowed convulsively. “Spock, is it Stonn? Are you still blaming yourself for killing him? That’s it, isn’t it?”

Spock answered too eagerly for Kirk’s satisfaction—as if he were grasping for a reason. “Yes, I killed him because I loved you. I killed him out of hate, rage . . . even jealousy at what he was going to do to you. Possessiveness. You were mine and he had no right to touch you. Can you not see? I murdered him because of my love for you. Can a feeling which causes such an action be right . . . or even sane?”

Kirk wasn’t satisfied with this overly-open answer from a normally reticent Spock. McCoy would have said he was covering something deeper. It was a human answer—the kind of answer which would never come out of Spock that easily unless it was concealing something else, something even darker. But Kirk decided to accept that for the moment. At least he was talking.

“It wasn’t murder, Spock. You know that as well as I do. Stonn would have killed us both. He was insane. Regardless of your motives at that instant, Stonn would have had to be killed eventually. Out of compassion for his own agony, if nothing else! We’ve been through this many times. The Vulcan High Counsel said as much.”

“I did not kill him for his benefit,” Spock replied stonily.

Kirk felt himself becoming angry. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were bondmates. One in life, one in sharing trouble and pleasure. And Spock was hiding—hiding his real pain. Stonn had little or nothing to do with his basic problem. Kirk instinctively felt that Spock had settled that wolf within himself to some extent. This was something more. Something deeper—more hurtful.

“Dammit, Spock!” Kirk said loudly, “I want to know what’s going on and I don’t believe it has anything to do with Stonn!”

Spock stiffened at the tone of Kirk’s voice—the Captain’s voice. For a second, he was silent, adjusting himself from Jim Kirk, his lover, to Kirk, his captain. Even a Vulcan takes time to adjust. When he finally spoke, he was cold and formal. “There is nothing ‘going on’ as you choose to phrase it. My personal reservations, at this time, are . . . private.”

Kirk observed him for a long moment, then got up and dressed quickly. Hurt pride was making him indignant. He wasn’t accustomed to rejection. But, when he stopped at the room divider and looked back at the bowed head, his anger faded abruptly. “Spock, I wish you would confide in me. Please tell me what’s really troubling you. I just want to help.”

Spock did not look up. “I have nothing to say.”

Kirk started to reply, then his shoulders slumped in defeat. Feeling helpless and confused, he left, leaving Spock to his own thoughts. He walked down the corridor slowly, unconsciously heading for Sickbay and McCoy. How long had it been since he had really confided in Bones? A long time. Before Spock and he . . . He shook the thought from his mind. How had McCoy felt about this sudden exclusion? Kirk had never truly reflected on it until now. He had been so wrapped up in this relationship with Spock, he had had little time to consider Bones. He knew McCoy didn’t totally approve of it; there was too much Georgia conservative in the doctor. But, then again, McCoy had not condemned it either. He was too much of a friend. He had tried to understand—or at least accept—the relationship. He was no prude and he was open minded enough to see the need in both of them for the other.

When Kirk discovered McCoy was not in sickbay, he headed for the doctor’s quarters, feeling pleased with the idea there was still the good, old comfortable Bones to talk to. The door opened readily at his signal and McCoy’s smiling face greeted him. “Hi, Jim.” The doctor looked at him steadily. “You look like hell. What’s going on?”

Kirk dropped into a chair gratefully. Without asking, McCoy quickly mixed a drink and handed it to him. Kirk accepted it, and taking a gulp too fast, choked a little.

“Okay, what’s up?” McCoy asked cheerfully. “I know you didn’t just come here for my outstanding mint juleps.”

Kirk felt himself easing. The drink and the warmth of McCoy were taking effect. “It’s a long story, Bones.”

“Aren’t they all?” McCoy grinned. “Spock?”

Kirk glanced at him sharply. “How did you know?”

McCoy sighed. “Elementary, my dear Captain. You get involved with a Vulcan—especially a hybrid Vulcan—you can’t expect a bed of roses.” Seeing Kirk’s temper rising, he checked him before he could respond. “Jim, don’t get defensive. I’ve told you both for years that Spock is a powder keg. A Human/Vulcan mixture is like mixing matter and anti-matter. You have to be very, very careful. They’re complete opposites.”

“Are you saying that Spock and I aren’t compatible?” Kirk asked bitterly.

McCoy sighed. “No. I’m saying Spock isn’t always compatible with himself. In fact, you may be what he needs to get himself straightened out. You’ve helped him a lot already. Even I can see that. But he still has a long way to go before he accepts what he is. He’s repressed his human half so hard for so long that when it comes out, it’s so traumatic he finds it difficult to cope.”

“What are you saying, Bones?” Kirk asked, fascinated.

“Just what I’ve always said. And both you and Spock refuse to listen. What happens when matter and anti-matter come together too suddenly? Wham! Yet if it’s done correctly, slowly, with the right precautions, it’s productive—and amazingly powerful.” McCoy stood and mixed another drink for himself and Kirk, then sat back down and faced the captain. “I don’t believe it’s an inappropriate simile. Spock needs to have a little more give-and-take in his two halves. In fact, he needs to fuse that schism if possible. I don’t know what’s been going on between you two lately, but I can guess. I know you’re lovers—and bonded—though I doubt if I’ll ever really know what _that_ means—as someone who’s been married, I’m pretty sure it’s not just that. And I know it wasn’t something you jumped into without thinking.”

Kirk looked at little embarrassed. “Well, yes and no.”

McCoy’s eyebrows shot up. “What do you mean?”

“It was after we returned from the ceremony on Vulcan. Spock thought he had killed me—”

“Yeah, Jim Boy, I was there, you know. You both said everything was fine. I wanted to check you both out—particularly Spock—but he flat refused. And you backed him up.” He held up one finger in vindication. “I _knew_ that was a mistake! Why do I ever listen to you?”

“Because I’m the captain,” Kirk suggested wryly.

“Nuts to that. So you’re saying the blood fever wasn’t completely over, is that it?”

Kirk shrugged, “Pretty much. Oh, it wasn’t as dire as it was on the planet. He was definitely himself again.”

McCoy became concerned. “He didn’t . . . uh, assault you—”

“No, no!” Kirk responded quickly. “Not at all. In fact, I think I kind of caught the fever myself in some ways. We were just both so damn happy we were alive and, I don’t know, it seemed the _logical_ thing to do at the time.”

McCoy noted the twinkle in Kirk’s eyes and relaxed. “I see. So you didn’t discuss it before time?”

“Not a lot of talking right then,” Kirk smiled. “But afterward I was happier than I’d ever been in my life. I was sure Spock was, too. That’s why I’m so confused now.”

The Doctor chuckled. “Let me get this straight. You expected Spock to just roll with an impromptu, off-the-cuff, ‘hey, why not’ bonding?”

Kirk looked uncomfortable. “Well, not when you put it like that.”

McCoy sighed. “Listen, Jim, I don’t know much about Vulcan culture, but I can imagine, as conservative as they are, they would not accept such a bonding easily.”

“They don’t,” Kirk said quietly, thinking of Sarek.

McCoy nodded. “I thought as much. This is probably easier for you to accept than Spock. Homosexual love is nothing new in human culture—or Vulcan, for that matter—but since they conceal so much, I imagine they conceal that even more. Like I said, I don’t know what your problem is, but I can imagine it’s something that’s pitting the Vulcan against the Human in Spock. It’s been his basic psychological dichotomy from the beginning.”

“So you think it’s the bond itself that’s causing him to pull away?”

McCoy eyed him with interest. “So he’s pulling away?”

Kirk nodded. “Bones, he won’t let me help and there’s something really breaking him. In spite of the bond, he won’t let me through that shield.”

“Then don’t try,” McCoy said simply. “He’ll let you know when he needs you. Whatever rejection you feel now is your own—not his. I doubt if Spock would ever truly reject you. But this may be something he has to process for himself. This bond may have made him feel more than he is comfortable with—or handle at the moment.” He shrugged. “Jim, I can’t give you any answers, just not-very-educated guesses.”

The Doctor looked vaguely awkward. “It’s not up to me to approve, Jim. It’s your life. I guess I know you well enough to have faith in your decisions, but I have felt that something was coming to a head with Spock lately. I think this bond might have pushed it even more. And I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. He needs to let his human half out, but it’s a dangerous game.” He looked at Kirk seriously. “Like the matter and anti-matter, it might he bringing them together too fast.”

Kirk’s voice was almost a whisper as he answered. “I don’t want to lose him, Bones. He’s drawing away from me and I don’t know how to fight it.”

“Do you want to fight it?” McCoy asked suddenly. “Does it mean so much?”

“I don’t want to be alone again,” Kirk said quietly. “And I don’t want him to be alone again either.”

McCoy was silent. Alone. He certainly knew what that meant. It was something he had long ago learned to deal with in himself, but he could hardly blame Kirk for refusing to give up a relationship that could end the loneliness. “The only advice I can give you, Jim, is not to push it right now. Use your intuition. Take it one step at a time.” He waived his hand. “All the usual clichés.”

Kirk looked at McCoy soberly. “One step at a time. If I only knew which steps were right . . . “

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

For the next few days, Kirk took McCoy’s advice. He saw Spock only on duty and tried to maintain his distance, hoping Spock would settle the dilemma in himself or ask for help—or even just companionship. But the wall the Vulcan had constructed around himself grew higher and Kirk became more puzzled and worried.

His thoughts were interrupted by the door signal. “Come,” he said absently, then stood up, feeling a surge of optimism when he saw it was Spock. Maybe he was ready to talk. But the Vulcan’s face was more rigid than ever. He stood facing Kirk with his hands clasped behind his back.

“I request some time off the ship, Captain,” he said finally. “I need to return to Vulcan. It is an urgent matter. In spite of our recent shore leave, I believe I have sufficient leave time accumulated to justify another absence. If you can convey me to Starbase Four, I believe I can attain transport—”

“Why?” Kirk asked shortly, swallowing his disappointment.

The question demanded an answer—an answer which should not have been as difficult to give as it was. “My father is dying. It is customary for a son to be in attendance if possible.”

“Spock . . . “ The grip on the Vulcan’s shoulder was tight, comforting. “I’m so sorry. When did you get word of this?”

“This evening. Although I have known he was ill for several weeks. My mother wishes me to return home.”

“We’re only a few days from Vulcan,” Kirk reasoned. “The _Enterprise_ can get you there quicker than any transport you can get at Starbase Four.”

“Captain, it is not necessary—”

“We aren’t doing anything that important anyway,” Kirk interrupted. “This is a routine patrol. It can hardly matter if we divert to Vulcan.” He moved to the intercom and flipped it on. “Mister Riley, set a course for Vulcan and notify Starfleet that we’ll be diverting there long enough to drop off Mister Spock.” He received acknowledgment and flicked it off.

“Are they certain of your father’s condition?” he wondered hopefully.

“Yes. There is little doubt Sarek will not live much longer.”

“His heart?”

Spock nodded. “Despite the operation Doctor McCoy performed, his coronary muscles are too weak to continue functioning. They could not resist strain.”

“Wouldn’t a transplant be possible?” Kirk asked, considering all possibilities.

“No. Not with his blood type and already weakened condition. It would he neither feasible nor practical.”

Kirk didn’t know what to say. He’d lost his own father when he’d still been quite young. They hadn’t been as close as they could have been, as his father had been in space most of the time. But even though he had become more of an ideal than a father, Kirk still remembered the searing pain he’d felt at his death. As for Spock, Kirk knew too well the deep love and admiration Spock felt for Sarek—a love he had never been able to show or admit as a proper Vulcan. And their last meeting had been strained—perhaps to the breaking point—by Sarek’s knowledge of Kirk and Spock’s relationship.

Carefully, Kirk put his arms around Spock. “Let me help, Spock. I know it hurts.”

Spock remained stiff and unyielding in his arms. “Thank you, Captain, but I am perfectly able to deal with any sentimental—” He broke off and pulled away from Kirk’s embrace. “I assure you, death is not an emotional situation on Vulcan. It is a logical and natural progression—regretful if termination is premature, as in my father’s case—but it is illogical to attach sentiment to a natural demise. A violent death would be much more distasteful.”

Kirk found himself unable to respond to this hard and stilted speech. He knew all the pain that was hidden behind that stoic expression . . . and he was unhappy that Spock wouldn’t trust him to share it. Was their bonding really so unimportant to Spock? Was he really such an outsider (or outworlder) that he couldn’t share or understand this alien grief? Or was it alien at all?

There was one question Kirk had to ask. “Why didn’t you tell me before that Sarek was ill? The night I came to your quarters?”

Spock seemed unwilling to give an answer at first, but when he did, Kirk knew it was no red herring this time. It was an honest, if regretful answer. The real human half of Spock slipping through Vulcan armor. “I was not . . . sure that I would go. He has rejected me so many times . . . “ The voice was so low, so sorrowful, that Kirk almost reached out again at the painful truth the Vulcan was admitting to himself. “I thought I didn’t want to be there . . . or . . . perhaps he would not want me there. But I . . . .” His eyes touched Kirk’s briefly, then dropped. “I cannot reject him. I am a true son of Vulcan.”

Kirk shook his head gently. “You’re just a son,” he said, wanting to touch Spock so much, to comfort him. But it was impossible. Spock didn’t want his comfort now.

And it hurt Kirk. It hurt deeply.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

Kirk stared at the viewscreen. Vulcan hung there, framed by the screen, harsh and beautiful. He felt almost jealous of its pull on Spock. Could Earth ever call to him as Vulcan called to Spock? No, Earth was home, welcome and warm, but never demanding. Almost to the contrary, Earth tended to send it’s children out to the stars, encouraging exploration. Vulcan was deep and strong in Spock’s blood, and it called him back, not forward. There would never be a total release from this hard red planet. Some pulse would always beat with the pulse of Vulcan. This world claimed its own and never let them be completely free. It was not surprising that so few Vulcans took to space with this siren eternally beckoning them back. Kirk shook himself from his daydreams with an effort. Vulcans would hardly agree with too-human romantic and unscientific hypothesis.

Sulu’s voice broke into his reverie. “Orbit status confirmed by Vulcan Space Central, Captain.” Kirk switched on the intercom to Spock’s quarters. “Report to the transporter room, Mister Spock. We’re ready to beam you down.” He stood and moved to the turbolift. “You have the con, Mister Sulu.”

Spock was already in the transporter room when the Captain entered. He could detect nothing through the Vulcan’s stoic expression. “Spock, are you positive you don’t want me to go with you?” he asked quietly, studying his friend’s face carefully.

“It is not necessary, Captain. However, I appreciate the intention.”

Kirk took a step forward, then stopped, suddenly conscious of the transporter chief. “I’ll handle the beam down, Mister Kyle. You can take a break.”

Kyle smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

When he was gone, Kirk moved to stand close beside Spock, touching his arm tentatively. “If there’s anything I can do—”

Spock cut him off abruptly. “I believe you will find the settings on the transporter are already adjusted to the proper coordinates.”

Kirk let out his breath slowly. “All right, Spock. If this is the way you want it, I guess I can understand.”

Spock avoided Kirk’s gentle eyes. He stepped into position on the dais as Kirk moved to the controls, skillfully maneuvering the levers which sent his bondmate back home to Vulcan.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

“Mother.”

Amanda turned at the sound of Spock’s voice and he saw the deepened lines in the loved face. Lines that hadn’t been so pronounced just a month earlier. He had known that seeing his mother’s grief would be, perhaps, the hardest thing of all. Sarek was everything to her. She had given up her world, her culture, to meld with his. Sarek would have been pleased with her now. She stood strong and straight, dry-eyed—only the slight tremble of her hands revealed the inner turmoil.

“Spock,” she said softly, coming to him. Their hands touched in the tender ritual greeting. “I knew you would come. Sarek has said nothing . . . but I knew he wanted you.”

“How is he?”

“In great pain, though he tries to conceal it. Mostly for my sake, I’m afraid. He refuses any medication for fear it will dull his mind.”

“How long do the physicians anticipate?”

“Soon,” she cut him off, knowing the question was as difficult for him to ask as for her to answer. “The physicians are with him now. They do not believe he will survive the night.” Her voice caught and she slumped. Spock reached out for her, but she straightened, determined, he knew, to honor Sarek by being as appropriately Vulcan as she could for as long as she could. She took a deep breath and continued, “He has been finding it difficult to breathe, but he will permit no mechanical aid.”

Spock nodded, understanding. Sarek knew he was dying, and he would die in dignity, as he had lived. There would be no lingering death-in-life. The physicians could possibly keep him alive for weeks, months, but it would not be he but a hollow facsimile. It would be useless, illogical.

“Where is Jim?” she asked suddenly, startling him from his thoughts.

“I thought it would be . . . unseemly for him to come here now.” The words sounded strange, even to his own ears.

Amanda looked curiously at him. “But, Spock, you are bonded, aren’t you? It is customary for a bandmate to share—sorrow. I thought you would need him now.”

“No.” He turned away from her gaze. “This is something I must deal with myself.”

She continued to look at him, puzzled at first. They had seemed so close just a month ago. So much one. Spock had seemed . . . happy. Now, she sensed a deeper, more aching pain in her son. She caught his arm, turning him to face her as realization dawned. “You are blaming yourself for this, aren’t you?”

His face hardened and she saw the muscles in his jaw tighten. His voice was almost harsh when he answered her—but at himself, not her. “My father’s heart was not strong. I knew that. Yet I brought Jim here. I entered into a bonding which was shameful to Sarek. It is not the first time I have gone against tradition and his wishes. But this was more serious. He has too much pride to accept such an action from his son. My weakness . . . weakened him.”

She could not reply. She had felt Sarek’s disappointment . . . and, yes, withdrawal, from his son through their own link. It had saddened her, but she had long ago adjusted herself to this eternal clash of her husband and son’s personalities. It had always been so, from the beginning. Sarek was demanding of things from Spock that he himself was unwilling or unable to give. Spock, feeling Sarek’s disapproval, fighting to overcome it—sometimes rebelling against it—as he did when he joined Starfleet. Still, she knew they loved deeply. Spock’s all-too-human need for it—Sarek’s all-too-Vulcan inability to show it. But Spock could not truly believe he was the cause of his father’s illness!

“Spock,” she said finally, “cease punishing yourself. It is not your doing. You aren’t responsible. Whatever you think, your father does not despise you for your relationship with Jim. I am his wife; I know how he feels.”

Spock pulled away from her. Still Vulcan. Still holding himself sternly in check. Whatever emotions were raging inside, she could not read them in his disciplined expression.

“When may I see him?” he asked stonily. It was plain she would be unable to reach him now. She sighed. “Come.”

He followed her to Sarek’s bedchamber. The physicians came out as they approached the door. They stopped and spoke quietly to Amanda, shaking their heads. Spock paused at the door, steeling himself, then went in.

Sarek lay on the bed, eyes closed. His face was drawn and lined with pain and stress. Spock stood indecisively, watching the labored rise of his chest, then sat beside the bed, wanting to touch him, yet reluctant to make his presence known.

“Spock?” The voice was surprisingly strong. The eyes didn’t open, but Sarek’s hand lifted in ritual gesture. Spock stilled his own trembling and touched his father’s fingers in response. “Yes, Father. I am here.”

“I am pleased. It is fitting that a son should witness a father’s demise. The line continues even as it dies.” His eyes opened and his head turned slightly to observe his son. “You show no emotion.”

“No, Father.” The effort strained Spock to his core. Yet he must dignify this man’s death with the proper restraint.

A wry smile appeared at the corner of Sarek’s mouth. “I am not certain I am gratified by this sudden ability to control. You have shown emotion so often in the past, it is something of an irony that you can conceal it now. But . . . perhaps it is fitting.”

Spock felt a sudden wrenching deep inside. Could he never please this man? “I am still Vulcan,” he said, his voice sounding choked even to him.

“Yes, you are Vulcan,” Sarek answered, “but you are also human. It is something I have perhaps made a grave mistake in trying to ignore. It was illogical to deny it . . . or for you to forget it. Perhaps . . . “ A sudden, intense pain twisted Sarek’s face. The voice diminished to almost a whisper as he continued. “There is much I would say to you, my son, but I find it will be . . . regrettably . . . impossible. My death is . . . unfortunately eminent.”

Amanda entered and kneeled beside the bed, clutching Sarek’s hand. There were tears in her eyes now, though she tried to blink them back.

“Father . . . I . . .”

But Sarek spoke again before Spock could finish. “There is a tape . . . on my desk. I have known for some time this was moment was coming. I did not know if you would be able to attend me. Take it, Spock. Perhaps you will understand . . . I am proud of . . .” He stopped once more as another wave of agony struck him. His eyes opened once more to search for Amanda’s. “My wife . . .”

“Yes, my husband.”

The words were an effort now. “Amanda . . . touched and touching . . . “

“Sarek, parted and never parted from me.”

Spock watched the meeting of their eyes, saw the indescribable tenderness in his father’s.

Their love was so strong . . . so deep. _Unlike with Jim_. He pushed the thought from his mind. The lovely ritual Vulcan phrases continued softer and softer as Sarek weakened. It was a severing, a slow tearing. The death of one was the death of both, although one would continue to live for a time. The life would be hollow without the other—empty.

Sarek’s eyes closed. The labored breathing ceased. It was over. Sarek of Vulcan was no more.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

Kirk knew there was no belief of an afterlife in Vulcan culture. Death was a fact and accepted as such. Sarek’s body would be cremated. There would be no funeral or period of mourning, although his loss would be felt not only on Vulcan, but throughout the Federation as well. Sarek’s voice had been important. The only ceremony involved was a brief ritual in which Sarek’s name would be etched deeply in the ancient stones of the family shrine, along with the thousands of others who had lived before him. Most of the names were sand-scoured and dim, almost illegible—but never forgotten—Vulcan memory was incredibly long. The names in the stone were to symbolize that, although the body was gone, the honor they bestowed to the family line and to Vulcan endured. It was a totally private affair, with only the family in attendance. Kirk awaited a call from Spock requesting his presence—but it didn’t come.

Nearly a day after Sarek’s death, Kirk lay on his bed, trying to understand this pointed breach of the bond by Spock. Something was terribly wrong. It was tradition that a bondmate stand with him at the ceremony. Or, barring that, the closest friend. Either way Spock wanted to play it, he should have called Kirk.

Kirk knew he had kept the ship off patrol nearly as long as he dared. He hated to leave Vulcan without having a chance to talk with Spock in private, yet he had no choice. If Spock wasn’t going to call him, he l could have to call Spock. Making up his mind, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and hit the intercom switch. “Uhura, contact Mister Spock and put him through to me down here.”

“Yes, sir.”

A few moments later the answering call came. “Spock here.”

“Spock, I hate to leave, but I have to get the ship back to work or somebody’s going to get upset. We’ll make a swing of this sector and stop back in a couple weeks. Will that give you time to get everything in order?”

“That will not be necessary, Captain. I am ready to return to the _Enterprise_ at any time.”

Kirk paused, surprised. “But, Spock, are you sure you’re ready to come back so soon?”

“I assure you, everything is in order. Sarek had his affairs well arranged.”

“What about your mother?”

“My mother is . . . as well as can be expected.”

Kirk felt a chill run through him at the increasingly cold tone of Spock’s voice. “It must be very hard for her. Shouldn’t you stay with her for a while? Or is she returning to Earth?”

There was a slight hesitation before Spock answered. “I suggested the possibility to her, but she prefers to remain on Vulcan. It is her home.” Another pause. “I shall beam within the hour, Captain. Spock out.”

“Spock—”

But the Vulcan had already cut communication.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

Spock returned to the ship and, as they warped out, Kirk tried to catch Spock’s feelings through the link. But he met with the same stone wall of resistance. He became more depressed and the cold feeling in his chest grew as the day wore on. It was evening before he got up the nerve to face Spock. He was fairly certain now that he knew the reason for the withdrawal, but he was hoping against all logic that he was wrong.

He faltered at Spock’s door, then set his jaw and signalled for admittance. He couldn’t bring himself to intrude if Spock truly didn’t wish his company. But the door slid open and he entered. Spock was holding a tape in his hand which he quickly laid on the desk. Kirk glanced at it nervously. He knew it wasn’t a ship’s tape by the color and the slightly different shape. Spock must have brought it back from Vulcan.

“Spock, are you all right?”

“Of course, Captain.”

Uncertain of how to continue, the human sat on the edge of the desk and idly picked up the tape Spock had discarded. If Spock wasn’t going to talk to him, how was he going to unravel the problem between them? He couldn’t remember Spock being this cool and aloof since they first met. But he still hesitated to start anything. Obviously, this was a bad time, with Sarek’s death so recent. It would be foolish, even unkind to dwell in emotion at present. He looked at the tape again, studying the alien contours. He straightened as something occurred to him. Perhaps it was the perfect time. It didn’t take a great deal of insight to see the significance of this tape.

“From your father?” he asked softly. Spock nodded, avoiding his eyes.

Kirk set the tape back on the desk. “Is that what this is all about, Spock? Sarek?”

Spock did not answer. When he finally spoke, it was in an icy, level tone which made Kirk brace with apprehension. “I do not comprehend to what you are referring.”

“The way you have been these last few weeks. Is it all connected to Sarek’s opinion of our bonding?”

“In any case, it is irrelevant. I am leaving the _Enterprise_ as soon as possible.” He had pointedly ignored Kirk’s question.

It was Kirk’s turn to be silent. He walked to a chair and slowly sat down. Spock remained standing. “So, where are we going, Spock?”

For a second, Kirk thought he caught a flash of emotion in the hard face, but it vanished swiftly. “You are quite aware of my meaning,” he said stonily.

“And you should be quite aware that I go where you go,” Kirk countered. He tried to keep his voice even. He couldn’t take this seriously. He didn’t dare; it hurt too badly. “I am certain you’re familiar with the Book of Ruth in the Old Terran Bible. We are bonded, so _‘Do not urge me to leave you or to return from following you. For where you go I will go, and where you lodge I will lodge_.’ It could almost be a quote from the Vulcan _Shelshaan_. The concept is the same. Loyalty and commitment.”

“I intend to dissolve the bond,” Spock said abruptly, harshly.

In spite of the recent events which had led up to this, Kirk was still jolted. “That’s not possible.”

“What was done can be undone. It may be difficult, but I must try nevertheless. It was a mistake from the beginning.”

Kirk stood, unable to accept what he was hearing. He couldn’t believe Spock was doing this. “You can’t mean that.”

Spock finally turned to face him. “We have been deluding ourselves, Jim. It cannot work. We are too different. A bonding is meant to be productive and our bond can produce nothing but pain for you, and shame for my family.”

“Aren’t you forgetting companionship, tenderness . . . love?” Kirk asked bitterly. “Or do Vulcans consider those aspects illogical by-products of a relationship?”

“Our relationship has already indirectly caused two deaths: Stonn’s and my father’s. And I do not expect my mother to long survive my father’s extinction. Their bonding as too deep.”

“And you’re saying that ours isn’t?” Kirk’s voice was choked.

Spock took a deep breath and turned away again, unable to witness Kirk’s all-too-evident pain. “I am saying that the most logical course open to us is to attempt to sever it now, before more damage is inflicted. My leaving the ship is the only way I can see of accomplishing the dissolvement. Sufficient distance will, no doubt, assist the effort.”

Suddenly angry, Kirk grabbed Spock’s arm and jerked the Vulcan around to face him. “I believe I have some rights in this! We made the decision to bond together; shouldn’t the decision to dissolve it be mutual as well?” Kirk’s anger hadn’t seemed to shake Spock.

The Vulcan disengaged his arm from the human’s grasp. “Very well. Do you agree?”

The cool answer made Kirk even more furious. Hurt pride spoke for him. “If I said yes, would that satisfy you?”

“My satisfaction is not the motivation for this decision. Correction of a serious miscalculation is.”

Miscalculation of what? My love for you, or yours for me?” The pain in Kirk’s chest wasn’t blunted by his anger. It felt like a twisting knife, tearing his soul as well as his heart. He couldn’t believe Spock would be so cruel to him. “Being selfish is out of character for you, Spock.”

The Vulcan suddenly moved away from him, as if the contact had weakened his resolve. “It is not intended to be selfish. You would benefit from the dissolvement as well. You would be . . . free again. I know you entered the bond to save my life. The sacrifice is no longer necessary. Once free of the bond’s tie, you can continue your life in a normal manner. You will no longer be chained.”

“Sacrifice?” Kirk stared at him as if he couldn’t comprehend what he was hearing. “ _Sacrifice_! Is that what you think it was?” He slammed his fist down on the desk. “Maybe this bond should be dissolved if you know me so little! Apparently, it wasn’t as total as either of us thought.”

Spock stepped forward. “Jim . . . “

But Kirk’s pride wouldn’t let him listen now. He was hurt and wanted to strike back. He was tired of walking on eggshells to avoid crushing Spock’s Vulcan psyche. The time had come to have it out.

“Oh, no, Spock! You aren’t going to lay this on me. Don’t try to convince yourself that you’re doing me a big favor by freeing me of our bond. If you’re going to do this, you’re going to know the real reason. You think I don’t know what’s at the bottom of this?” Kirk asked bitterly. “It’s your father. Not his death, and not the fact that you think you caused it by the shocking news of our relationship. You’re too logical for that. Sarek was an intelligent man and a realist. Even if he didn’t approve, it would hardly have killed him!”

“In his weakened condition—”

“Stop hiding, Spock!” Kirk cut him off roughly. “What’s eating you isn’t nearly so dramatic as that. It’s the fact you think you haven’t lived up to what’s expected of a Good Vulcan Son. It’s always bothered you, hasn’t it? That’s why you joined Starfleet in the first place—to get far enough away so he couldn’t see your human faults!”

Spock flinched inwardly at the brutal honesty in Kirk’s voice.

But the human went on, making him listen. “It’s hell being human, isn’t it, Spock? This last month you’ve been eating your guts out because you killed Stonn out of pure rage. A human rage. How horrible. How unVulcan! Just can’t stand the thought that you don’t have your human half buried quite deep enough. It’s so shameful to let your emotions out. Your father would never approve. Not to mention that the precious line of—hell, I _still_ can’t pronounce it!—will end with you. God, I’m sure that irked Sarek most of all. And that’s really why you want to dissolve the bond, isn’t it? You’ve been feeling too much, and it scares the hell out of you. You don’t know how to handle it. Well, if human emotions were really so distasteful to your father, didn’t you ever wonder why he married your Amanda? Maybe that human passion was a bit more attractive to him than he—”

“Stop.” Spock said suddenly.

Kirk crossed to where he stood, and forced him to look in his eyes. “You don’t want to hear this, but you have to. You have to start accepting yourself for who and what you are. Stop hiding. I don’t know what your father told you on that tape, but I can’t believe Sarek would make you hate yourself this much. That would go against what he believed in far more than anything you or I have done.”

“I . . . “ Spock trailed off, unable to admit it. As Kirk looked at him, realization dawned, clear and certain.

“You haven’t even listened to it, have you?” the human demanded.

Spock dropped his eyes. “I have had . . . other things on my mind.”

“No,” Kirk argued. “You’re just afraid. And don’t tell me fear is a human emotion. You’re terrified that he’ll tell you he’s ashamed of you. That you aren’t Vulcan. That you’re not his son.”

Spock didn’t reply, but he looked stricken.

Kirk took a deep breath, abruptly feeling exhausted and more depressed than ever. “Okay, I can’t fight it anymore. If dissolving our bond will make it easier for you to face your father’s memory, then there’s really nothing else I can do. Just remember, it’s your choice, not mine.” He left then, leaving Spock staring at the tape on the desk, unmoving.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

Once in his own quarters, Kirk dropped down on the bed wearily. He felt drained, wracked, uncertain. Had he said too much? Had he even known what he was talking about? McCoy had said Spock was a dangerous mixture. Was his attempt to force Spock to fuse his halves too sudden, too explosive? Could Spock accept his own weaknesses?

He fell into a troubled sleep, with nightmares of Spock losing control like Stonn. Then, abruptly, he awake, a jolt running through him. It was Spock . . . calling . . . longing . . . . He felt the Vulcan’s agitation, and need flowing through the link. In seconds, he was at Spock’s door, this time not even thinking of using the door signal. He entered the room and the door whooshed shut behind him.

Spock was seated at the viewer, the tape half pulled from the recorder. He was shaking, and Kirk could feel the stone wall of his reserve cracking slowly, piece by piece. His hurt eyes sought Kirk’s. “Jim . . .”

In an instant, Kirk was on his knees by Spock’s chair, holding him tightly in his arms. “It’s all right, Spock. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

The wall crumbled, the dam finally broke. Spock began to cry, tears running unheeded down the torn face, sobs coming from deep within him. He clutched Kirk tightly, and the human stroked the soft, dark hair soothing. This was the first time Spock had cried of his own accord—for his own grief and suffering. It was an openness Kirk rejoiced in. A beginning. The valve had opened and all the years of bottled-up pain could now be released. After a while, Kirk pulled Spock to his feet and led him to the bed. They lay down close together, still holding. Spock needed this comfort now, needed Kirk’s closeness. They simply held, each other, sharing their love, content to be together. Gradually, Spock’s sobs quieted, and Kirk saw that he had finally fallen asleep—probably the first hard sleep he’d had in weeks. Kirk smiled tenderly. It was such a human thing to do. Crying yourself to sleep.

Kirk felt happy. He knew instinctively that Spock had come to some kind of understanding with himself. Had accepted something very basic and important. His humanity. Not that it would change him very much outwardly. He was still very much a Vulcan, with a Vulcan’s outlook, culture and beliefs. His personality and character had been formed long ago, and wouldn’t change—and Kirk was glad of that. He didn’t want him to change. But there would be a difference. It was doubtful that anyone but him, and perhaps Bones, would see it. However, there would never be that great void of Vulcan to Human again. He wouldn’t be so afraid of letting go any longer. And his basic insecurity would gradually fade.

Kirk realized that Spock had finally listened to that tape and whatever Sarek had said had finally gotten through to him. Or maybe it was the combination of what they had both said that night. Suddenly curious, Kirk pulled carefully out of Spock’s arms and got up. He went to the viewer and reached to push the tape in. Then he stopped. No . . . . It was private. He certainly had no right.

“Go ahead, Jim.”

Kirk jumped guiltily, turning to see Spock standing by the divider, smiling slightly at startling Kirk. Embarrassed, the human stuttered a little. “I . . . I’m sorry, Spock. It’s really none of my business.”

Spock came to him, touching his face softly. “How can you say that? Of course it is. And . . . I want you to hear it.” He went to the desk and pushed the tape in.

Sarek’s strong, handsome face appeared on the screen. Kirk was struck once again by the dignity and presence of this Vulcan. He would certainly be a hard father for any son to live up to, even under the best of circumstances.

“Greetings, Spock. As I find I am quite ill, and the prognosis for my recovery is not optimal, I feel I should attempt to communicate with you in this manner—in the event you are unable, or perhaps unwilling, to attend me before my demise.

“You have been very much in my thoughts since your recent visit, perhaps because I knew my heart was weakening and my death was near. Strangely, perhaps illogically, nearness to death appears to bring an atypical perspective to many matters. Death has a final logic of its own, granting views of alternatives that have sometimes been overlooked when not facing the end of life so irrevocably.”

He smiled slightly. “I did not intend to wax poetic in my explanation of this tape, but death itself is sometimes poetic in an odd way.

“Of late, I have begun to realize that I may have made a grave error with you, my son. I refused to accept the valid course your life must follow, preferring to think the mold I had cast for you to be the only reasonable path. I know believe I was wrong. If I state this somewhat belatedly, it is because—as your mother has so often told me—I am a stubborn man. I insisted your behavior be totally Vulcan and taught you, even if it were not my true intent, to be shamed by your mother’s blood. In doing so, I ignored the most basic of our beliefs: IDIC. Amanda would explain my actions as pride and ego, but—as it does my self-esteem a most profound injury to believe myself guilty of such base emotions—I prefer to judge that I committed the oversight out of sheer ignorance.”

Again, there was the small, rueful smile on Sarek’s lips. “It does not excuse my actions or make me less culpable for them, but I should not like you to think I caused you pain knowingly, or from some selfish need on my own part. However, it would be illogical to assume I made no mistakes. Instead of assisting you in combining the Vulcan/Human diversity in yourself, I forced you to separate them by a wide gulf of self-doubt—doubt of your true Vulcan identity, and repression of your humanity.

“Your wisdom in leaving Vulcan to join Starfleet was not clear to me at the time. I see now that your decision was quite correct. I know you have thought I considered it an act of cowardice in some ways, that you were fleeing from a problem instead of facing it at its origin. If I thought so once, I do not now. Yours was an admirably logical solution to an unacceptable situation. I commend you.

“As for you bonding with Captain Kirk, it appears we were once again at odds. However, I have considered the matter and, although I still do not wholly approve due to the lack of progeny, I believe I can understand your motivations. My approval is not necessary or even important on a choice so impactful. It is your life and your decision. I accept that, and I have confidence that you have made the correct decision for yourself. T’Pring would not have been an acceptable mate. And I could hardly condemn you for bonding with a human, as I am . . . guilty, so to speak . . . of the same. Amanda has made my life much richer than I ever anticipated. She has given me much—not the least of which was a son I am justifiably proud of. There is a fire and a joy in humans that I sometimes think we have sacrificed for other priorities, buried too deeply within ourselves—and we are often lesser for that. It has warmed me these many years and I am content with it. If you have found this in your bonding, then I must be pleased for you. It is a rare and precious thing.

“There is little I can do now to absolve myself of the distress I have undoubtedly caused you, or for the years we did not speak because of my lack of understanding. I can only ask forgiveness.

“There is something else I would say to you, Spock. It should have been said long ago, but it was not our way. Perhaps it can be your way now. James Kirk may teach you as my beloved Amanda has taught me. Such simple words, so difficult to say at times. I love you, my son.

“Peace and long life.”

The screen went blank and Kirk sat for a moment in silence. He was moved, yet unable to think of words to express it to Spock. There was so much that should be said that he couldn’t. As Sarek had said, words were inadequate. Finally, he spoke softly. “He didn’t speak in Vulcan—I wonder why.”

Spock smiled at him, then pulled the tape out of the player and looked at it. “Do you know, that did not occur to me until you mentioned it. I must have had other matters on my mind.”

Kirk returned the smile tenderly. “Yes, I imagine so.”

Spock continued studying the tape meditatively. “Still, my father always had reasons for his actions. I believe he intended you to hear this also, Jim. That is why it was not in Vulcan.”

“It honors me a great deal to think so. Sarek was a remarkable man, Spock.”

“Yes,” the Vulcan answered quietly as he laid the tape gently back on the desk, “a most remarkable man.” Their eyes met with complete understanding. Spock concluded simply, “And I loved him.”

After a time, Kirk asked, “So what happens now?”

This time Spock’s smile was very wide and expressive. His dark eyes shone.

“Come to bed and see.”


End file.
